End Game
by October Revolution
Summary: The RED team is tired of being pushed around by the vicious Administrator, and they are planning an uprising that will change Mann Co. forever. The sequel to my other TF2 fanfiction, In Hindsight.
1. Prologue: Helen

**End Game**

_A TF2 Fanfic_

**Prologue: Helen**

"_Am I ever going to see you again?" the little girl asked tearfully. Her father knelt, pushing a lock of hair out of his daughter's face. "Mama says you're going away…"_

_ "Yes." The military uniform was somewhat stiff, and he shifted uncomfortably. "I'll be home soon. Only a year." He said absently, more concerned with convincing himself than convincing his tearful daughter. The girl wiped her wide eyes with the back of her hand and the father smiled, weak but reassuring._

_ "O-okay." The child whispered. She turned her face away, hearing the nervousness in her father's voice. "I love you, Daddy." The man stood suddenly, turning his back on his child and his pregnant wife. He was too close to tears. As a man, as a father, as a husband, as a soldier—he could not show it. _

_ "I love you too." He walked out onto the tarmac, not looking back at his family. Later he would regret this, and when gripped in the last gasps of life, he remembered this, the last time he saw his wife and his sweet little girl in the red coat. Poison gas was an unkind way to go, but he was simply one of many. His body was never retrieved—never sent home, either. It was ravaged by the fire and the mustard gas, gaunt from the lack of rations, chafed around the chin from the gas mask… The military never sent these corpses home, only left them to rot or reported them missing and had them buried in mass graves. There were too many dead boys and men and husbands and fathers, too many telegraphs to send home. Too many wives, too, who could not handle the telegraphs and leapt from bridges or, distraught and hopeless, like the mother of the red coat girl, who took the pistol of her late husband and buried a bullet deep in her chest, granting herself the quick death her lover never got to have. And then the red coat girl was thrown from hand to hand like a boat in a tempest, tossed by waves to uncles and aunts and older cousins and finally to an orphanage in upstate New York and raised there, lonely and bitter and unwanted. Too soon, she turned 18, turned loose, and ended up shivering under a bridge in Newark without a penny to her name. That was where she met Saxton Hale._

_ He'd seen her there and walked boldly over, and she'd instantly fallen for the brave Australian with the dazzling grin and the war stories. She'd never admit it, though. He'd took her to dinner, and soon learned that she was a no-nonsense sort of woman—perfect for the job he was looking for. Soon she'd been instilled with a vicious sarcasm as well as a love for cigarettes and tight dresses. She was no longer the little girl in the red coat, the bitter orphan, or the homeless hopeless bum. She was no longer Helen._

___She was The Administrator. _

…...

The Administrator watched the grieving Spy with a strange fascination. He had never been like this before. She didn't like it. Flipping a switch, her voice purred in his ear through an earpiece.

"**Pick yourself up off the ground, will you? You're a pathetic excuse for a spy**."

Spy stood, and for a moment Helen smiled, but she froze as she saw the look on his face. His mask still hid most of his face, but the Frenchman's face was contorted in inhuman rage. "Don't speak to me right now. I hate you so much." He snarled. "You don't know what I'm going through."

"**You do know that I could kill you with a flick of a switch?**" she said lazily, taking a pull from her cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke into the dim room.

"Killing me would be a kindness right now, _mon ami_." Spy growled. "Leave me to grieve in peace." He started to walk back to base. The Administrator bit back a stinging retort, her finger moving to the kill switch. Suddenly she paused, remembering her mother's despair and her suicide, and slowly her hand moved away, resting on the box of cigarettes instead. Spy was right. Killing him would be the kindest thing to do. Therefore, she'd prolong his life for as long as possible. It was simple, cruel logic. And for a woman like her, cruelty came so easily. She looked at the video feed for the RED base and frowned slightly, noticing that the Spy had joined the rest of his team.

"Miss Pauling?" she called sharply. Her young assistant appeared behind her.

"Yes?" Pauling asked, eyes wide, fingers clutching her clipboard nervously.

"Listen closely." The Administrator said, smirking and narrowing her eyes. "I have a plan. At the conclusion of this plan, we may need to look for some new mercenaries. Please compose job application forms and revisit our old lists of acceptable employees. Especially for the support classes."

"Yes, ma'am." Pauling nodded and rushed off, puzzled and a bit frightened. Helen watched the video feed of the REDs, plotting and planning just out of earshot and her smirk grew. This would be her crowning glory—the day she quelled a mercenary uprising.


	2. Chapter 1: A Girl Named Heather

**End Game**

_A TF2 Fanfic_

**Chapter 1: A Girl Named Heather**

Spy was sitting in the same room as the rest of the REDs, but he felt like he was far away. His mind had turned to Heather, his little flower, like a daughter to him. Sniper was sitting next to him, and the Australian glanced over from time to time, concerned.

"I know you're not okay, mate, but is there anythin' I can do to help?" Sniper asked, putting a hand on Spy's shoulder gently. Spy shook his head, remaining silent. "Do you want to talk about it?" Spy looked over at Sniper, a little surprised. The two had never really been close. Both were distant, and they were distant in their own special ways, so their lives had been like parallel lines—never crossing, never stopping. It seemed that tragedy unified all sorts of people, though. Scout and Medic were sitting beside each other, Heavy was staring blankly off into space while Pyro sat next to him and patted his shoulder, and Demoman was standing next to Engineer and Soldier while they went over blueprints and attack plans. "You don't have to say anythin' if you don't want to."

"Her name was Heather. She was my niece. My sister Jeanne died giving birth to her, but I think zat her spirit lived on in little Heather. I took care of ze girl, raised her like my own." Spy said, his voice quiet and tense. One by one, the other mercenaries fell silent and listened. "She loved ze color red. Always she would 'ave red coats, red flowers… She was overjoyed when I told her that I would be red, too." He smiled weakly. "But she didn't understand why I 'ad to leave. Ze night before I left, we 'ad an argument… A big argument. She felt abandoned, I was trying to push her away so that it wouldn't hurt as much to say goodbye. So I left early in the morning before she woke up. I left a new red coat on the coat rack and then…" He shrugged. It was a very French shrug, the expressive kind that one could almost read like a book. "You know the rest. I came here and did what I did. About three weeks ago, I was out walking and I 'eard her voice—familiar but different all at once. I ran over to see her. She 'ad spent the last two years searching for me… She wanted to come inside, but I told her it was dangerous. I said she should leave… She refused. I suppose it all would 'ave been different if I'd insisted." Spy wiped his eyes roughly. "The next morning I came out and saw zat she was still there. She 'ad dug a hole, and she said it would be her grave because she… She'd rather die than leave me again."

"Mmmph." Pyro said sympathetically. Heavy seemed very distant, being uncharacteristically quiet. Medic was watching, tense and concerned, and Scout looked like he was fighting back tears. Demoman was not even trying not to cry, and a few tears were rolling down his cheeks. For once the team was feeling the same all at once. There were no gaps between them now—they were more of a team now than they'd ever been. Engineer noticed this and started musing about how grief unifies in his head, and he wondered if he could build a machine to make them all sad like this all the time. The BLUs wouldn't stand a chance. Of course, what little remained of his sanity wouldn't stand a chance either, he noted drily.

"I started bringing her my food because she was hungry. She was a growing girl, after all. I don't think she ever noticed that I was starving, but I gladly would have starved if it meant that she was happy. We'd sit and talk, and laugh like old times. My optimism started coming back… I guess I knew that it would end badly, but I'd always hope. So full of hope… Heather did that to people. Made them hope. I thought I'd never again feel like that. She would sit there in her grave and joke about death, and I'd laugh." Spy smiled slightly, and Sniper smiled, too. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Spy laugh. "Heather was such a brave girl. I gave her one of my red suit coats and said goodbye…" He shivered, folding his arms and hunching his shoulders as though he was very cold. "This morning, I walked out there and I knew there was something wrong. It was all so quiet. So quiet…" Spy broke down into barely audible muttering in French and Sniper felt a jolt. That was the sound of the leading edge of insanity, the noises of someone on the verge of psychotic breakdown. The REDs turned away, unable to bear seeing Spy like this, and went back to planning their revenge, but the room seemed darker and colder now. Heather's story had been told, and now her death was that of a friend rather than the death of a stranger. Heavy stood and walked away abruptly, and Scout followed, sniffling loudly. Sniper stayed, though, disturbed but resolved to remain by the spook's side.

…...

The Administrator had watched the scene impassively. The audio wasn't very good right now—she suspected that the Engineer had sabotaged it—but she got the general idea of the story. Somewhere in her mind there was a twinge of worry. Spy would have the rage of a father avenging a child, and that was no force to be trifled with. But Helen was exalted, in a position of power, and no matter how clever these REDs thought they were, she was smarter and more powerful than they could ever be. She could already taste the sweet victory—and she could see the look on Saxton Hale's face when he learned of her triumph. Maybe this time, he'd appreciate her for who she was instead of seeing her as a coveted object. This was a battle of love and hate, then. And in the dark, jaded confines of the Administrator's mind, hate always won.


	3. Chapter 2: Sparks

**End Game**

_A TF2 Fanfic_

**Chapter 2: Sparks**

Sniper needed some fresh air. Unfortunately, the nights were chilly and the still night air ended up feeling stifling, even to the bushman. He did the sensible thing, then—he called Pyro over and started a roaring bonfire. Soon the amber flames were putting off searing heat, so that it was only pleasant to sit about ten feet away from the blaze. Sniper dragged out a couple of metal folding chairs from the back of his van—three, as an invitation for a fellow to join in—and then sat next to Pyro and watched the roaring fire. Pyro was sitting and watching the flames happily, hands folded in its lap like a schoolchild and legs swinging like an entertained toddler. For something so vicious and heartless, the Pyro was certainly very childlike and innocent. Suddenly it hit Sniper like a punch to the stomach. If they went head to head with the Administrator, all this would be gone. It wasn't a possibility, it was a reality, a certainty, as cold and harsh as the steel of his knives. Someday, maybe not too far down the road, all of this might be gone. He glanced up at the sparks dissolving into the night sky and fading into the faint, icy galaxies beyond, and he realized that he, too, would fade. Pyro leaned on Sniper's shoulder gently, and the Australian felt a thrill of fear run through him. Though Pyro never took off the mask or showed him/her/itself, the firebug was still very expressive and emotional. Right now, it was probably as upset as the rest of them, was likely also moved by Heather's story, and was almost certainly wondering and worrying about the rest of the team. Sniper patted Pyro's shoulder gently.

"It's okay, mate." he said gently, looking up as Heavy ambled out and settled down in the chair next to them. Heavy was smiling slightly.

"Comrade." Heavy greeted morosely. "Nice fire."

"Yes… It is. I felt cold out here alone with the wind." Sniper said, trying to remain aloof. For a long while there was silence, save for the crackling of the fire.

"I am upset." Heavy finally responded, looking down at his hands. For once he'd left his gun somewhere other than right beside him.

"We all are." Sniper sighed. "I've never seen Spy like that before." Heavy nodded, glancing grimly at the flames, and then told the story of him and his little sister Anya. "So, you see," he concluded roughly, "the death of leetle Heather was much like reliving my Anya's passing." The Australian lapsed into a moody silence then, watching the sparks leap, burn, consume, and fade, and then the ashes would fall back to Earth, scattered by the wind... Eventually Engineer joined them, and Soldier, and Demoman as well. All of them ended up lost in moody thought—until Scout came out, that was.

There was a loud crash and a curse from Scout, and the strong aroma of coffee, made a bit too dark. Scout walked out, holding up the broken handle of the coffee pot and grinning apologetically.

"Thought you'd all like some coffee." He said sheepishly, gesturing back to where Archimedes was sitting in among the glass shards. "The bird dive bombed me, ya see, and I forgot that the pot'd break if I hit the wall with it…" Engineer chuckled.

"It's all right." He yawned, putting away the guitar and standing stiffly. "I was thinkin' about hittin' the hay myself." Soldier stood, too, still clutching blueprints tightly in one hand and a grenade in the other.

"Thanks for the offer, though." Soldier said gruffly, smiling slightly at Scout, who was looking a bit disappointed. "We were just sitting around feelin' sorry for ourselves 'til you showed up! Thanks for cheering us up."

"Yer welcome." Scout said, shrugging and flopping down in the chair that Engineer had vacated. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles and pulling his cap down over his eyes. "Fire." He commented. "It's warm."

"Mmmph." Pyro agreed. It was still leaning on Sniper's shoulder, but it had been silent and still for so long that everyone had assumed that it was asleep. Sniper tried not to fly out of his seat in surprise, and largely failed, moving enough to shake Pyro's head off of its resting place. Pyro slumped forward quickly, then snapped upright again, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. Heavy smiled, though it looked more like a grimace, and Scout let out one of the little dry chuckles that he'd give when he was upset but still amused. "Mmph." Pyro grumbled. It sounded indignant and a bit embarrassed.

"Ssh!" Sniper snapped suddenly. "I hear something." Everyone fell silent, and soon their attention turned to the doorway. Two soft voices were emanating from the doorway, and soon Spy appeared there, leaning heavily on Medic. Medic was patting Spy's shoulder, but the Frenchman seemed distant, staring blankly ahead of him and whispering softly in French.

"What's wrong with him, doc?" Scout called, looking disturbed by this display.

"I… I don't know." Medic said softly, glancing over at him. "His body is healthy—he's a bit thin, but he's healthy—but there is something not quite right about his mind. He's been like this for hours." Sniper stood, frowning, eyes wide and shocked like the eyes of one who has just woken from a nightmare.

"Has his mind gone?" Sniper asked carefully. "Is he…"

"I don't believe his sanity is completely gone yet. He's on that track now, though, and if I can't find a way to pull him back to reality…" Medic shrugged.

"Doc, you can't let him go." Scout said, his voice edged by panic. "You can't."

"I know, Scout." Medic replied, leading the still muttering Spy back into the building. "I know." The bonfire shifted as a fire-weakened log snapped in two, releasing a flurry of sparks into the cool night air, spinning wildly and then fading one by one until only the stars remained hanging there in the sky.

….

"Wonderful." The Administrator whispered, lighting another cigarette. The BLU engineer smiled wryly and left the room. "Thank you." A new weapon for her cause—a weapon of unprecedented lethality—had been created. Now, nothing could stop her. She was truly invincible.


	4. Chapter 3: Made of Stone

**End Game**

_A TF2 Fanfic_

**Chapter 3: Made of Stone**

"BONK!" Scout shouted, grinning as he tapped Heavy over the head. Heavy whirled, grumbling and lashing out with a fist, but Scout was too fast and dodged the blow, grinning insanely. It wasn't combat, but a game—something to help keep them sharp on weekends. They'd spar with melee weapons, practicing and laughing, and then often sharing a drink when they were done. They used to practice with rubber bullets and the occasional live bomb, but Medic soon outlawed these often deadly games. Scout and Heavy were locked in a dance of fists and metal, the bat reaching beyond where the gloves could retaliate, but soon Scout got a bit too brave and was sent sprawling by a right hook. "Hey, man! Not so rough!" The Russian only laughed, helping Scout up and patting him affectionately on the shoulder. Sniper was off hitting straw bales from great heights and distances, and Soldier was cleaning his rocket launcher. Engineer was in his workshop, drawing up plans for a better teleporter, Pyro was painting flowers, and Demo was off inspecting a new shipment of bombs. All in all, it was a pretty typical Sunday for the REDs.

Not for Medic and Spy, though.

"What does this look like?" Medic asked, holding up an inkblot. Spy just stared blankly at it. "Please…"

"_Fleur_…" Spy murmured. Flower. Medic heaved a sigh of relief—that was the correct answer. His breath caught in his throat, though, when Spy continued to repeat the word, over and over quietly. "_Fleur_… _Fleur_… _Fleur_…"

'Nein." Medic admonished gently. "Just a flower."

"Not just a flower." Spy replied darkly. "Not… just…"

"Spy." Medic said suddenly. "Snap out of it. We go back to fighting tomorrow, and we need you. You can't be like this!" Spy was silent, his lips moving but no sound escaping them. "Please."

"_Fleur_…" The word hung on Spy's lips, like a lingering raindrop on a leaf. He still did not move, nor did he react—he just sat there, as a stone carving of his former self, impassive and eternal and terribly static. Medic, too, was motionless for a long moment, then he was suddenly alive again. Quick as though, he lashed out to slap Spy's face, connecting with a loud, sharp_ crack_. The Frenchman looked up, eyebrows knit together and mouth open in an expression of vaguely detached misunderstanding. "_Diffamer_… cœur… _fleur_…" he mumbled. "_Pourquoi_…"

"_Mein_ _gott_, Spy." Medic breathed. "Where have you gone?" Spy still did not answer. He brought a hand up to his face, fingers dancing over the place where Medic had slapped him. "And how do I bring you back?"

"Bring me back…" Spy repeated, staring ahead without seeing what was there. Medic feared that his mind had gone—gone to a place of no return, somewhere even the doctor could not retrieve it from.

…...

Scout was on a mission. At the center of the map, he waited for a rendezvous that could be the end of him. Luckily, his counterpart had a slight amount of chivalry. The two approached each other cautiously, circling like boxers about to start sparring. Suddenly, as though on an invisible cue, both stopped dead and spoke at once. "Whaddya want?" There was a long pause as they tried to figure each other out. It was so much like looking into a mirror…

"I'm here to make a deal." RED Scout said, cautious and brash all at once. BLU Scout inclined his head proudly, sneering a little.

"What the _hell_ gave ya the idea that I'd _ever_ wanna make a freakin' deal with the likes o' _you_?" BLU Scout retorted harshly.

"Your continued survival." RED Sniper's voice rang through a little handheld radio carried by Scout, and the BLU's face paled. "He moves an' he's dead."

"So what?" BLU Scout replied with a flourish of false bravado. "Respawn is still on."

"You hate to die. I've gotcha pinned." RED Scout chuckled.

"How'd you know that I—" BLU Scout began, but the RED cut him off with a wave of his baseball bat.

"'Cuz as much as I hate to admit it, you an' I are a lot alike." Scout smirked. "We both hate to die. And getting' backstabbed an' left to die is our number one fear." He paused for a moment to enjoy the look of terror on his BLU counterpart's face. "An' we're getting' stabbed an' abandoned by someone—a common enemy. The Administrator."

"What, are ya crazy?" BLU Scout breathed, eyes wide. "Ya can't say that out in the open like this! She'll kill ya—" he snapped his fingers "—just like that!"

"Maybe." RED Scout shrugged, glancing away for a moment. "Maybe not. Doesn't hurt to try. Besides that, I've got a story for ya." BLU Scout wore a look of utter contempt.

"I ain't a child." He sighed. "I don't need no storytime."

"Alright." RED Scout said, his hand moving to his radio—presumably to signal the Sniper.

"No. Wait." The BLU put his hands in the air. "Whaddya want me to do?"

"Sit." RED Scout grinned triumphantly. "An' listen." And so, the BLU Scout learned of Spy and Heather, and, after a little coaxing from Sniper, took the RED back to the BLU base. Soon, a plan was formulated. Eventually, RED Scout returned to base, unscathed and victorious, and walked into the dining hall just in time for dinner. "Oh, have I got a story to tell you!" Honestly, it would have been perfect—if only Spy were there.


	5. Chapter 4: A Visit

**End Game**

_A TF2 Fanfic_

**Chapter 4: A Visit**

The Administrator was actually nervous. It was an extremely rare event, but she had butterflies in her stomach and she kept tugging at the hem of her skirt. It felt as though she was standing on the edge of a precipice, blindfolded, with her toes over the edge. Yes, even stoic Helen was antsy and fidgety, and she had somehow managed to go through four more cigarettes than normal this morning. She went to bite her lip, then cursed, pulling out a hand-mirror. The last thing she needed was lipstick on her teeth at a time like this. Suddenly she froze as she saw Miss Pauling at the mirror's edge, standing next to a woman in a white dress.

"Ma'am?" Miss Pauling said nervously, eyes wide. Her hands clutched the keyboard, and her knuckles were a skeletal white. She looked even more nervous than she usually was around the Administrator, and that was saying something. Of course, the woman in white commanded this sort of respect. Tall, formidable, rich, powerful, ruthless, ambitious, unfathomably intelligent—yes, Caroline Johnson was hardly someone to be trifled with. "She's here."

"I can see that, Miss Pauling." The Administrator replied sharply, folding her mirror and whirling around in her chair. Suddenly, every movement she made felt like something that was under immense scrutiny, and had she not been in the dark, smoky control room, her flushed face may have been visible. "You are dismissed." Inclining her head, she walked over to Caroline. Each little tremor in her ankles suddenly became a point of intense embarrassment, and she tried her best to steady herself and not let any emotion show through. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Johnson. Please, sit down." With a sweeping hand motion, she gestured to her chair. Caroline only smiled.

"I prefer standing, Helen." Her smile was warm, but her eyes were as frigid as a taiga forest, silent and dark and unforgiving. "You may sit again, if you'd like." Immediately, Helen moved back to the chair, fearing some consequence if she didn't obey instantly. "Now, you wished to speak to me about a… how did you phrase it, an 'unusual turn of events'? Was there a rogue bomb? An industrial accident?"

"No, nothing like that." The Administrator shook her head. "Not like that at all. It was—"

"Are you going to let me finish, Helen?" Caroline leaned forward a little now, her voice taking on a deadly edge. "Or is it an uprising? Are your tactics no longer working to keep these highly unstable monstrosities at bay?" She paused, heels clicking on the floor as she paced slowly. "You see, my dear Administrator, fear alone is not enough for these sorts of creatures. They're unstable. Disturbed. War-torn. Some of them are even full-on clinically insane, if my files are correct."

"They are." Helen murmured, and instantly regretted it from the look on Caroline's face. "Ma'am."

"Fear is a helpful tactic, but provide them with other incentives to be good. Make an example out of someone." Caroline waited to let The Administrator speak.

"Yes, well. I tried. That's what's getting me into this mess. I made an example out of a pet. A child." She looked away, lighting a cigarette, and Caroline almost burst out laughing outright. Soon she regained her deadly edge and took three delicately menacing steps closer.

"You. Worthless. Fool." Caroline whispered, lips parted in a sneer. "What made you think that that would be a good idea? You murdered a child? If Mister Hale were to hear about this…"

"Don't!" Helen stood, her cigarette tracing a burning trail in the air. "Please."

"The mighty Administrator. Begging me not to tell Saxton Hale of the latest in a long line of failures." Caroline's voice was soft, but the tone was incredibly lethal. Listening to her in this mood was like staring down the barrel of a gun. "Don't worry, I won't." Breathing a sigh of relief, Helen sank back into her chair.

"Thank you." She sighed. "I—"

"Don't thank me." Caroline laughed. "I'm not telling him about it because I'd like him to see you fall with his own eyes. And you have so far to fall, you know." She turned to go. "Fear isn't the only method of control. You want help? Look at your precious cameras. Watch yourself sniveling and cringing, and learn from your observations." Her voice lightened here, and she returned to her light, airy, friendly persona. "After all, life is just one big experiment. You may as well employ the scientific method. Oh, and Helen?"

"Yes, Ms. Johnson?"

"You have lipstick on your teeth." With that, Caroline left the room, leaving a trail of pealing laughter and sandalwood perfume.

….

Most of the RED team had gathered, tense and expectant, in Medic's lab. Spy hadn't been the same since Heather died, and they went back to fighting the next morning. It was so late it was early, and in a few short hours the team would be preparing for battle. Spy was still out, though. Pyro was roasting marshmallows with the Degreaser, Engineer was marking up blueprints, Soldier was polishing his rocket launcher, Heavy was singing quietly in Russian somewhere away from the rest of the group, and the rest of them were standing around near the entrance, trying to avoid arguments. Infighting was the last thing this team needed right now. After a long while, Scout spoke up, alternately dancing from foot to foot and trying to keep still.

"How's the spook?" Scout asked, trying his best to remain lighthearted. Medic sighed heavily, running a gloved hand through his hair to smooth back a stray bunch that had fallen too far towards his eyes.

"Not good." He replied morosely, sitting down in a chair. "He's sleeping now. He's left reality… I don't even think he can hear me anymore. He won't eat unless I feed him, and he won't drink unless I put the bottle to his lips…"

"Like a baby." Scout grimaced. "Jeez, doc. I wish I could help somehow."

"I know, Scout." Medic sighed, looking away. "So do I."


	6. Chapter 5: The Beginning of the End

**End Game**

_A TF2 Fanfic_

**Chapter 5: The Beginning of the End**

The package arrived in the hour before dawn, the time when the sky is sickly and ashen, half-awake and half-asleep, and waiting for the sun to make its appearance. There wasn't much, just two large propane tanks and a note, ivory stationary marked with loopy, scrolling, cordial handwriting. It was the sort of paper one might expect to carry a wedding invitation or a notice that the prince is having a ball and you could be the lucky girl to be his bride. This note, however, was not a herald of one of those mirthful occasions. It was from Caroline Johnson, and it was an unfriendly reminder to the Administrator to toughen up. Miss Pauling brought the tanks in, and she set them down in the Control Room so that Helen could look at them. Soon, the click of high heels approached the tanks, and an impeccably manicured hand reached out for the note.

_Dearest Helen,_

_ A penny for your thoughts… And some neurotoxin. Grow a spine, please._

_ Sincerely, _

_ Miss Caroline Johnson_

Needless to say, this little notice did not make her job any easier. Though she was certain that there was no chance of the REDs reaching a position even remotely close to her, she still had a slight nagging premonition that this day would not go as planned. Miss Pauling stood in the doorway, wringing her hands and looking worried—almost comically so.

"M-m-ma'am?" the girl stuttered, the muscles under her left eye shivering spasmodically in a nervous tic. "What does sh-she mean about the n-neurotoxin?"

"Calm yourself, Miss Pauling. You look like a rabbit when you do that." The Administrator replied coolly. "We'll be fine. I'm sure of it. Everything will go according to plan." The glow of a lighter struck up, tracing the woman's harsh features in soft amber. Looping cascades of smoke started to fill the room. "According to plan, as always."

Medic couldn't sleep. He had been up in his lab all night, going through papers and old notes, and occasionally checking in on Spy, who was temporarily living in the back room so that he could be supervised. Humming quietly to himself, he stood, turning to check on Spy. Usually there was noise in the room—muttering, or loud crashing, or the pattering of pacing footsteps. Now, though, all was quiet, and Medic wondered if the cracked Frenchman had fallen asleep finally.

"Herr Spy?" Medic asked, quiet but cheery, knocking softly on the door. There was no reply. "Spy?" Shrugging his shoulders, he turned the stainless steel doorknob and peered into the room. What he saw there would haunt him for the rest of his life. Spy was crouched on the floor, his suit coat and mask laying a little ways off on the bed. His face was smeared with blood, his eyes wild and his deep brown hair tousled and unkempt. One arm was extended in front of him, and he glanced up at Medic. His other hand held his butterfly knife, red-stained, and blood pumped from a gash across his inner wrist. "_Mein gott_…" Medic breathed, momentarily too stunned to move. Spy looked away, crumpling down onto the floor like a discarded ragdoll, his body making a slight splash in the pool of deep scarlet that was gathering.

"Au revoir…" Spy murmured, drawing a ragged breath and then exhaling. He did not inhale again. Numbly, Medic fell to his knees. He heard the sound of someone screaming, soon realizing that the hoarse howls were coming from him.

He was still screaming when the rest of the team reached him.

Breakfast was forgotten that morning. Instead, the team waited in the Respawn room, numbly staring at where they were reborn after a death. But seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours, and still Spy did not reappear. Finally, Heavy stood and turned away.

"Spy ees not coming back." He rumbled, his voice hoarse with sorrow.

"Ya can't say that! How could ya say that?" Scout shouted, rising so suddenly that his chair toppled over with a loud crash. "Ya can't just give up on him like that!"

"I hate to say it, but Heavy's right." Soldier said, standing slowly. "We need to prepare for war. Sun Tzu said-"

"I don't care what Sun-freaking-Tzu said!" Scout crossed over to Soldier, grabbing his shirt and yelling in his face. "We can't just give up! He wouldn't give up if this happened to one of us. He's a member of the team!"

"Scout… Son, I hate to say it, but they're right. We've got one hell of a battle ahead of us, and if we're not ready… We could end up dead." Engineer nodded to Heavy and Soldier, rising as well.

"Stop! C'mon, someone has to agree with me! We can't leave!" Scout protested, looking around frantically. His eyes were red and watery, like he was about to cry.

"Häschens…" Medic said gently, putting a hand on Scout's shoulder. "The battle will begin soon, and—"

"Even you, huh?" Scout responded darkly, his voice suddenly cold. He glared around the room at all of them, setting his jaw and blinking back tears. "You can all go. Just leave. I'm waitin' here for Spy." He sat back down on the floor, pulling his hat down over his eyes and falling silent. The rest of the team filed out of the room until only Scout remained, shaking and trying to understand why they had gone—and wondering if they'd have left him like this if he had been the one to die.

"**Begin.**"

The cold voice of the Administrator spurred the teams into action, and they rushed forth into the map with shouts and jeers. This time was different, though. When the REDs met the BLUs, they did not fire but they shook hands, turning as one and beginning to sprint out towards where the Administrator's tower was.

"Where's your Scout?" the BLU Medic asked the RED Heavy.

"Scout ees waiting for Spy." the RED replied, looking away.

"Where's yer Spy, then?" the BLU Scout inquired loudly. All the REDs fell silent at once.

"Would rather not talk about it." Heavy rumbled, quickening his pace to keep up with the rest of the mercenaries.

"**Stop it!**" Helen said sharply, her voice ringing from every speaker and every earpiece. The BLU Scout cringed. "**What are you doing? Attack each other!**" For some reason, both Medics found this amusing.

"Not today, fraulein." they chorused, smirking. Both Heavies charged the double doors, which broke into little splinters. They were inside the stronghold.

"**Stop this right now.**" The Administrator snapped, her voice lowering to a vicious snarl. "**I will turn off Respawn and kill all of you.**"

"Can she do that?" the RED Engineer asked, frowning deeply.

"I don't know. I don't think so." murmured the BLU. He didn't look too concerned, but his voice betrayed a hint of worry.

"I hope not." The BLU Demoman looked around warily as they entered the tower, the top of which housed the Administrator's chamber. The plan was to get there, to the top, and then kill her. It was far easier said than done, and they all expected to die at some point, but they had expected to Respawn afterwards, just like they always did. If the cruel Admin turned off Respawn, though, death would be a final thing rather than a simple side effect.

"Let's not worry about it, ok?" Scout said tersely, rushing a few paces ahead. "What's gonna happen is gonna happen.

"**This is your final warning.**" The Administrator hissed. "**Stop now, or I turn off Respawn.**"

"Whatcha gonna do, shoot me?" the BLU Scout laughed, raising his hands up and glancing around with a wry smile. Suddenly, the crack of a gunshot split the air. The Scout crumpled to the floor, blood trickling from a bullet hole in his forehead. He was dead.

"No!" Both Medics rushed forward at once, but soon they realized that nothing could be done.

"**I told you so.**" Helen intoned, smirking.


End file.
